The Sound of Truth
by Skalidra
Summary: On the way back from a mission, Kon-El is knocked out of the sky and taken captive. Waking up in a lab is nightmare enough, and under a red sun light source is even worse. But he knows Black Talon will always come for him, just like how he'll always come for Tim. - Earth-3 connected universe, Tim Drake/Kon-El.


**This is part of a larger continuity of stories. Please consult my profile for the master reading list if you want to read them in order.**

Hello! Welcome to Monday. So, I wrote this a while back and just didn't get around to posting it, as it's not especially plot relevant to the Earth-3 story. It's a Tim/Kon piece, obviously, and it is a fairly important plot point in their relationship line, just not connected to much of anything else. XD It's also the first piece I wrote from Kon's perspective.

 **Warnings** are : Minor conditioning and threat of medical experimentation. Enjoy!

* * *

"Kon-El."

The sound of my name feels muted, quiet, and it manages to get me sorta aware, enough to realize that I _hurt_ , but not much more than that. My next breath comes staggered and with a groan, hands clenching as I shift on my back and tighten my jaw. Everything aches, and there's the fire of an open wound across most of my left side — it feels like a sword sliced through half my ribs — along with a throbbing pain in my head that I recognize as the hangover from kryptonite poisoning.

Where _am_ I?

"Kon-El," the voice repeats, and it sounds like it's rooms away but whoever it is, is talking to me. Surveillance, maybe? It doesn't, that's not _Tim's_ voice, and I can't hear a heartbeat to go with the voice. I can't… I can't hear much of _anything_.

I drag my eyes open, squinting up. A bright light, shining _red_ , is all I can see, and headache or not I can see that's a goddamn _red sun_ light source. Despite the pain I jerk upwards, and immediately regret it. I shout out a sound of pain as my entire left side pulls, burns, and it's fucking _agony_ , collapsing back onto what I think is a metal table. I try and turn, try and drag my hands up to at least hover uselessly over what's gotta be one _hell_ of a wound, and metal pulls tight against my wrists, just below my elbows, and at my ankles. Oh, _that's_ not good.

I breathe through my teeth, shuddering and trying not to make any more noises. Tim taught me the basics of controlling and managing pain, how to work through it. It's not like I've got the experience — pretty much anything that hurts me is gone within about an hour, so long as I get enough sunlight — but I'm not weak, and I'm sure as hell not going down to this. I've seen Owls, who are _just human_ , stand, move, and fight with injuries _way_ worse than whatever's happened to my side. I can do this.

After a few moments I manage to pull my gaze away from the light and the ceiling, looking around the rest of the room. It's a lab of some kind — fear, and remembered pain and _misery_ spike sharply in the center of my chest — but nothing in it looks like it's running right now. I'm not hooked up to anything, and the lab is mostly shades of white and the grey of metal but it's all tinted red by the light above me. At least that part is different.

What happened?

I remember… there was a fight, yeah, but it was _done_. I was flying back to the base and something hit me out of the sky. _Hard_ , and it must have been kryptonite because I'm damn sure I was out before I hit the ground. I didn't hear anything — alright, Tim might have been talking so I wasn't paying attention like I _should_ have — I didn't see anything. So who'd know enough to take me down like that, and about red sun, and who'd strap me down to a lab table?

 _Shit_.

"Talk to my _face_ , Luthor," I spit through my teeth.

Maybe it's not the only option, Tim keeps trying to drill into my head that the obvious answer isn't always the right one, but Luthor's the first name that jumps to mind. The bald bastard pretty much gave up on trying to convince me that working under Kal was evil, and wrong, and I should be _ashamed_ , but he never stopped trying to take me out. I guess it sucks having your own creation turn on you, even if he was only kinda directly involved in 'raising' me. He doesn't deserve my loyalty, not after what his lab rats put me through behind his back. Even if he's not lying through his teeth and he actually _does_ care about me, that just means he's totally oblivious and never saw the signs that were right in front of his damn face.

I don't know if I'm really loyal to Kal either, but at least my Kryptonian 'father' doesn't try and pretend that he gives a damn about me. I'm his 'son' in name, and I add to his reputation, and we both know that's the only reason he keeps me around. We also both know that he'll kill me if I step out of line, because he's full Kryptonian and I'm really not a match for that. I wouldn't stand a chance.

I don't think that's loyalty. Meeting Tim, and the other Owls, gave me an idea of what _real_ loyalty is like. After my stupid, _careless_ words got Nightingale hurt that first time, _all_ of the others threatened to take me apart and start a war if it ever happened again. Three humans willing to go up against a Kryptonian over a _slight?_ _That's_ loyalty.

I crane my head back as I — dimly; I _hate_ the way red sunlight mutes my senses — hear a hiss of air, and a door on the wall behind me slides open. Yeah, _Luthor_. Perfect suit, perfect tanned skin, perfect neutral expression, and somehow the son of a bitch still manages to sleep well at night. I could be wrong, but I'm pretty sure the examples of heroes he force fed into my mind didn't include strapping down your enemy for whatever kind of torture or experimentation.

He closes the door behind him, and then strides forward through the machines to stand over me. I manage a glare, and half a snarl, before the tension in my stomach hurts too much to keep holding onto it. I shudder, and his gaze lowers from my eyes down to my side.

"You have my apologies for that, Kon-El," he says quietly, one manicured hand flicking in a gesture at whatever wound I've got. "It was unintentional."

"Feels intentional," I say in a growl that comes out more like a gasp.

For just a second, he looks guilty, and when he reaches down and touches my shoulder I jerk sharply to get away from the touch. Until the abrupt movement drives a cry of pain from my throat and I've got no choice but to collapse against the table or pass out. I try and take shallow breaths, moving my chest as little as possible, but it really doesn't help much, and Luthor's hand is _still there_.

"It's not too late, Kon," he says, and oh _Christ_ not this shit again. "I can protect you from Ultraman, and the Crime Syndicate. You can still do good."

"I don't _want_ to," I spit at him, baring my teeth and forcing myself to keep my gaze locked with Luthor's. "Get it through your head, Luthor. The only thing the same about us is genetics, I don't need your help and I don't _want_ it."

His face tightens, and I close my eyes and try and shut him out, try to ignore the hand on my shoulder. I can't hear his heartbeat, or his breathing, or smell him, or _anything_ , so it almost works. If I was totally crazy and stupid I could probably even convince myself that the unnatural silence is just me being in Tim's room. That place is _heaven_ , and not just because Tim is in it. I could sit and listen to his heartbeat for hours, if he'd let me.

"The offer will _always_ be there, Kon. If he ever hurts you; if you decide what you _do_ want—"

That snaps my eyes back open, and without thinking I answer, "I _have_ what I want."

I think it's the first time that my answer to that hasn't been a curse or a flat out refusal, and Luthor recoils just a bit. Like the words are a punch. Then he's moving away, circling around me to stand at the opposite side of the table, over my wound. I turn my head to follow him, as he reaches out to touch my side and I then have to bite my tongue not to cry out again. I still jerk, shudder violently enough that the table rattles, and _God_ it hurts. Is this the kind of pain that Tim deals with all the time, or am I just really sensitive to it or something?

My hands clench in their restraints, and I tilt my head back to have _something_ to ground me as the prodding of the injury continues. _Anything_.

I'm panting when he gets done with whatever he's figuring out, shaking and seriously trying not to let the burn of tears in my eyes be anything more than a burn. My gaze is focused blindly on the ceiling, and I really try to slow my breathing down with those counts I'm always hearing Tim and Jason use to manage pain or calm down, but the pain keeps hitching my breath and stopping me, and I give up. I don't have the control they do, I don't have the practice. _God_ , the more I experience the more I respect the Owls.

How the hell do they have such perfect control over themselves? If I had _half_ the injuries I've seen on Jason after nights with Nightingale I'd be wincing and cringing with every step. He barely even seems to _notice_ them.

Come on; they're just human. If they can manage pain like this, so can I. Luthor _doesn't_ get to win.

All I have to do is hold out for however long it takes someone to get me out of here. Maybe it'll be Kal, or maybe Tim will figure it out first. He was talking — not to me, but the channel was open — and he definitely expected me back at the base; I should have been there before he was. Maybe my 'father' doesn't know yet, but Tim knows. He'll find me.

Tim always has my back.

"I really am sorry about this injury. This was supposed to be painless."

"What was?" I manage to ask, squeezing my eyes shut for a second. I feel… light-headed. That's new. I know the facts, enough to know it's what I'm feeling, but I've never felt this way before. Kryptonite sucks, but it just _hurts,_ makes me nauseous, and drains all the strength right out of me. It doesn't make me dizzy like this.

There's a sound, a bitten off first syllable like Luthor was actually going to tell me, before he clears his throat. "It doesn't matter." I drag my gaze off the ceiling to him, and the world swims a little bit but I manage to hold onto what I'm sure is Luthor's face. "It's alright, Kon. This won't hurt."

The response on my tongue, that Luthor doesn't _get_ to call me anything but my full name, dies when his hand comes up with a syringe. I jerk, _hurt_ , still, and then snarl, "Don't you _fucking_ dare." I've had enough of needles, and scientists, and drugs, and I _hate_ the sight of syringes like that. It always means someone's about to do something to me they know I won't like, and _definitely_ won't consent to. When people use drugs on me it's only ever to stop me fighting, or to cause _pain_.

Luthor pins my shoulder down, fitting the needle against my skin even though I'm snarling and glaring and fighting despite the fact that moving hurts like _hell_. Then the door slams open, and the syringe clatters to the table next to my arm as Luthor whirls and raises a gun — tech I don't recognize — from inside his suit to point over my head in that direction. He doesn't immediately pull the trigger, and I crane my head back to try and get a look at who's interrupting and maybe thank them.

The figure slipping through Luthor's lab makes my heart rise, soar for a second, and my throat clenches up. Tim is dressed up in his full suit, head lowered and mouth a flat line that doesn't tell me anything. I wish I could hear his heart, his breathing; that always tells me what he's thinking. He's got something in his hands, but they're hidden by the fall of his cape so it could be anything, which is probably why Luthor hasn't tried to shoot him yet.

He comes to my side, standing opposite Luthor, and tilts his head to one side. He doesn't look down at me, not obviously, but I let my head fall to that side and shove out a relieved breath. Tim will _always_ be there, just like I'm always there for him.

"Luthor," my Owl says, firmly but not aggressively.

"Black Talon." Luthor still has the gun trained on Tim, but doesn't look like he's going to use it. Tim isn't worried, anyway. "You're alone?"

"For now," Tim agrees. "I thought I'd give us the chance to negotiate before bringing anyone else down on our heads. We should have a bit of time before the other Owls follow my tracking signal here to figure out what I'm doing. Much sooner, if my vitals change or I contact them." Tim's hands slip from beneath his cape, spreading to showcase that they're both empty. "Shall we?"

Luthor considers for a second, where I try and breathe shallowly and not show Tim how much pain I'm in, before I can see him tuck the gun away into his suit out of the corner of my eye. "I'm willing to listen. What do you want?"

"I want Kon-El returned to me, relatively unharmed," Tim says simply. "Whatever you were planning to collect doesn't interest or concern me, you're welcome to it."

My eyes widen, and I suck in a sharp breath. "Tal—" I choke and cut off when his closer hand snaps out and hooks fingers inside my mouth, claws pricking at my tongue enough to make it bleed and his grip strong enough to hold my jaw open.

"Hush." Tim's voice is dismissive. "Are you interested, Luthor?"

I swallow and try not to let the grip or the tone get to me. I'm _not_ used to Tim being stronger than me, or being able to force me around. The fingers in my mouth, pressing firmly down and pinning my tongue to the bottom of my mouth with the threat of his claws, holding my mouth open, feels… It feels _wrong_ , and it feels cruel without a reason. I don't understand it, but I don't like it. It hurts more than physically, and it makes me shudder against the table and squeeze my eyes shut to try and block it out. I just want to be able to concentrate and listen to Tim's heart. That would tell me everything I need to know about what he's doing.

"I might be. I was intending to get a suitable supply of blood, and some samples of tissue. Are you saying you'll let me walk out of here with them, without interfering, if I leave Kon alive for you to take afterwards?" Tim must nod, or something, because Luthor makes a considering noise. "I'd heard the rumors, but I didn't think you were that concerned with his safety, Talon."

Tim gives a low laugh that I _know_ isn't his, that drags another shudder from me because it sounds cruel and dark. This is _nothing_ like the Tim that I've been hesitantly calling 'mine.' "If you had a Kryptonian who would jump to heel with a snap of your fingers, would you give him up, Luthor? You're not my enemy anything but coincidentally, and I truly don't care about whatever you have planned against Kal-El, but _this_ Kryptonian is mine. Take the deal, take your samples, and leave him with me."

I've never watched Tim around his enemies. Maybe this is normal, maybe this isn't as bad as it sounds. Maybe the aching pain in my chest that _isn't_ the gaping wound is unfounded. God, maybe Tim's just downplaying what we are to stop Luthor from pinpointing me as a weakness, or him as mine. Or… Or…

I thought I knew what I was hearing in the beat of Tim's heart. I thought I _knew_.

"That's a fair point. You have a deal, Black Talon." There's a slight rattle of metal next to the other side, Luthor's side, of my head. "I was going to sedate him to make it painless."

"No." Tim's answer is sharp and instant. "I have no interest in waiting for him to wake back up. Take your samples."

I jerk, my hands clenching, and try to spit out something past Tim's fingers that at least sounds like the 'no' that's on repeat in my head. I don't want Luthor anywhere near me, I don't want him with anything of mine, Tim should _know_ that. We haven't talked about it much but he should _know_ what Luthor's lab rats did to me in the name of science and their own sick enjoyment, he should know I can't stand needles or labs or any of this.

I can hear Luthor step away, and Tim's fingers slip out of my mouth as he lets go of my jaw. " _No_ ," I shove out, dragging my eyes open to look up at him. "Tal, _no_."

His hand touches the side of my face, and he leans down until all I can see is the fabric of his suit and a slice of red ceiling above it. His mouth is hovering over my ear, and I can feel his hand move across the side my skull, raking through my hair very gently. It feels a little better, but it's not enough to stop this pain and uncertainty swirling in the middle of my chest.

" _Trust_ me, Kon," he whispers. " _Trust_."

Then he's pulling away, straightening back up, and his hand leaves my hair. I swallow, but try and relax. In front of Luthor isn't the place for this, right? That's what Tim would say. I have to trust that he knows what he's doing, and that shouldn't be as hard as it feels. Tim is an Owl, he _always_ knows what he's doing. I can just think about how Tim's heartbeat sounds, how it _feels_ when he's lying next to me but not yet asleep. He lets me near him when he _sleeps_ , and I know by listening to Jason and Nightingale that isn't normal for an Owl, so I should have the decency to trust he isn't just—

Using me.

I focus myself on the curve of his arm, the ease of his hand resting on the table beside me, the fall of his hair around the white-lensed goggles and the angle of his jaw. Whatever Luthor is going to do, Tim's not worried, and Tim plans for _everything_ so even if Luthor tries something I'll be alright. He wouldn't let me get hurt if he could avoid it; there must be something I don't know that's stopping him from just breaking me out _through_ Luthor. Must be.

"If you want that much," Tim says, in a low, icy tone, "you'll need to give him time out from under this light. Preferably under a UV light." I almost instinctively turn my head to see what Luthor's doing, but shudder and keep it still instead. I don't want to know. "With a wound like that he's bled enough, he won't survive that much more."

"I thought you agreed to this," Luthor says, with an edge.

"I agreed to let you take samples if I got him back _unharmed_. A 'slight case of death' isn't unharmed, Luthor." Tim's mouth is a slight sneer that I only barely recognize; he's looked at me that way maybe… twice? Never after he started sleeping with me and unofficially claimed me as his. Maybe officially now, since he said I was his right to Luthor's face. "Take less, or give him time to recover."

"So he can try and strangle me? Kryptonite would defeat the purpose."

Tim reaches forward, his hand wrapping carefully around my upper arm. "Kon-El will behave himself." He tilts his head, obviously looking down at me. "Won't you?" he demands, sharply.

I've got no idea if Tim actually means that. He wouldn't _really_ ask me not to kill Luthor if I have the chance, right? But he's looking at me for an answer, and if a 'yes' means Luthor lets me out from underneath the source of red sun light then why the hell would I say 'no'?

I nod, it makes my head swim a little and I have to draw in a shallow breath to try and stabilize, and Tim looks back up. "Is my word enough for you, Luthor?"

There's silence for a few seconds, and then something has to pass between them because suddenly the red light clicks off, and I relax and ease into the table and Tim's hand at the warm, _good_ feeling of sunshine. It's got a little bit of a weird edge to it, but that's because it's from a UV light and not natural sunlight. That doesn't mean it doesn't feel good, or that I don't let my eyes close and enjoy the rush of power that sinks back into my skin. Suddenly the wound in my side doesn't hurt nearly as much, and I can feel it regenerating and slowly sealing closed. My awareness of my TTK comes back, and automatically I filter it out past my skin and just a little bit into the air around me, feeling my environment.

Tim's hand flexes over my arm, clenching tight for a second, and I open my eyes to look at him. He's still looking past me, up at—

 _Luthor_.

I jerk up and turn, snapping through the metal restraints and reaching up, as Luthor flinches back, to wrap my hand around his throat. Hearing him gasp and then sharply cut off as my fingers tighten feels _good_ , and I jerk my legs out of the restraints at my ankles, hearing the screech of metal loud in my ears. And oh does it feel _good_ to be able to hear again too, to see, to smell, to _feel_. People don't _get_ to tie me down under a red sun, reduce me to a human, and walk away from it. Not _ever_.

No one gets to hurt me in anything but a fight ever again.

Tim clicks his tongue and before I realize what I'm doing my hand loosens, pulling away from Luthor's neck as I recoil a few inches. I draw in a sharp breath, and then Tim's hand is hard in my hair and pulling back, and out of instinct and shock I let it. Tim just— _God_ , he just—

" _Kon_ ," he snaps, "back _down_."

I didn't think I could feel this vulnerable while my powers were still working, but Tal, _Tim_ … Even the times that he's taken me instead of the other way around, I didn't feel _this_ vulnerable. There are times I was dosed with kryptonite that weren't this bad.

Luthor raises his left hand to rub across his throat, eyes narrowed. "Does Kal know you have his son conditioned, Talon?"

 _Conditioned_.

The word hurts, and I start to snarl and go for his throat again before Tim tugs sharply at my hair, his other hand curling around my wrist and pulling it back, against the table. I'm _not_ Tim's puppet, I'm _not_. Just because I follow his orders, and do what he wants, doesn't make me mindless. Just because I snap to obey wordless signals because I _know_ what they mean— I'm _not_ a puppet. Tim is… He _cares_. I _know_ he does.

The only reason that Tim ever made a signal like that was because of my strength. If I forgot myself, if I _hurt_ him, he needed a way to back me off instantly. I know that.

"He's _my_ Kryptonian, remember, Luthor? Take your samples before I set him loose on you." Tim's voice is a flat threat, and I try not to let the disconnected way he's talking about me sink any deeper than the surface. I can hold out until we're alone. "Kon, pull your TTK back from your left arm. _Now_."

I shudder, and I _hate_ the idea, but I do it. I jerk my head away from Tim's hand and my gaze away from Luthor, turning it down to the table as I manually draw my field back into the deeper parts of me, leaving my left arm — on Luthor's side of the table — vulnerable. I flex that hand, shutting my eyes and curving my back so I'm drawn mostly over my knees. I don't want to face either of them, but I don't pull my wrist away from Tim's grip. Instead I focus down, finding the steady pound of Tim's heart and just _listening_ , letting it drown out the rest of the world.

It's a little faster than usual, and it jumps abnormally at the same time as I feel the sharp sting of a needle at my elbow. Without the protection of my TTK my skin's still tougher than a human's, but it's not naturally invulnerable like my father's. It's an automatic defense now, after the lab and then the training Tim and the rest of them put me through, but I can manually disable it. I've done it a few times for Tim, and I don't know exactly the mood that made him ask but it was so he could leave marks, bruises. Nothing that really hurt, but enough to stick around for about a half an hour after.

It feels good. The field cuts off a fair amount of sensation, and I forget how much until my powers get disabled, by someone else or by me. But only around someone I trust, with _everything_. Only around Tim.

His fingers smooth over my wrist, and normally I'd lean over into him and just _feel_ the touch, but not with Luthor here. Not right now. Not when I… Not while my chest still aches like this.

I take in a breath, trying to ignore the feeling of the needle in my elbow and the touch of Luthor's hand around it. I can't block out everything around me with the sound of Tim's heartbeat, but I _try_. Until it pounds in my ears like a headache, with the background noise of him breathing, equally slow and steady, but same as his heart, just a little faster than what's normal for him. Something isn't right.

I strangle back a laugh.

 _Something_ isn't right? _Everything_ isn't right. Tim and Luthor are talking, Luthor is taking samples of my blood, and I'm not fighting him because Tim used what was only _ever_ supposed to be a failsafe to _make_ me stop. None of that is right, none of it is normal, all of it _hurts_. I just want to be done with this, so I can go back to the base, curl up in Tim's soundproof room, and forget the world exists. Forget everything but the sight, smell, sound, and taste of Tim.

I want to forget any of this ever happened.

Eventually the needle pulls out, and then I jerk sharply when there's a flash of pain at my upper arm. Tim's hand clenches a fraction before loosening, and the pound of his heart spikes sharply for a few beats, breathing changing in what I recognize as anger.

Even before Tim took me to his bed, I was focused on him. He was the first face I saw that didn't want to hurt me, that actually supported and helped me out of that lab, and I could read his expressions but it wasn't long before I realized that what was on his face rarely had anything to do with what he was feeling. So I taught myself to read his heartbeat, his breathing patterns, and the slight, involuntary changes to temperature, pulse, muscles. To ignore whatever expression he chose to show the world and actually see and hear what he meant.

I've never told him I do that.

I can feel blood slipping down my skin, from whatever Luthor's done to my upper arm and from the puncture in my elbow, and I swallow and try not to think about it. That should be about it, right?

"Are you done, Luthor?" Tim asks, echoing my thoughts. It sounds painfully loud to my ears, and I tense for a second before letting go of my focus on Tim's heart. Letting everything lower back to the normal range of my hearing.

"Yes," Luthor answers, and I can hear the metallic and plastic clinks and taps of whatever he's doing, but I don't open my eyes. I _do_ immediately extend my field back into my arm though, and being protected again makes me feel a _lot_ better. "Take your Kryptonian and go, Talon."

Tim pulls at my wrist, and I flick my eyes open to look over at him. He tilts his head and pulls again, briefly, and I follow his prompting because I just want to be _gone_ from here. I don't want to think about what Luthor is going to do with my blood, or what he thinks of me, or what I am to Tim. Before this I thought I was sure. I thought that what I could hear…

He leads the way out of the room, not looking back, and it makes me feel just a little sick but I follow. He seems to know the way out of whatever complex we're in, and his stride is fast and sure. He sounds angry. It isn't until after we're out of the lab — in some downtown area of what I think might be Central City — and inside a sleek black and grey jet parked outside, and Tim is guiding it into the air and setting it into what I'm pretty sure is autopilot, that he activates something on the jet's console.

"O," he snaps, "you listening?"

" _Always,"_ comes the answer, in the deep voice of what I shouldn't know is Bruce Wayne. I don't know his tones nearly as well as Tim's, but I know them enough to hear that he's distracted. " _What is it?"_

"Keep an eye on Luthor. There was an encounter; he has samples of Kon-El's blood and tissue. You'll get the report soon." Tim's voice is back to being flat and blank, but the beat of his heart still sounds angry. "I don't know what his plans for them are." I shift behind his back, standing uneasily in what little empty space is behind the two chairs. It's barely enough for me to stand straight without knocking my head into the roof.

" _I expect that report."_ Owlman sounds displeased. Like, _really_ displeased, and just the voice, even though it sounds mechanical and I know he's not anywhere nearby, makes me swallow and edge backwards a little bit. I can hear the reaction in Tim too, and it's not visible but it's not any less of a cringe. " _Anything else I should know?"_

"Nothing that can't wait; we're heading back to the base."

" _As soon as you're back."_ It's a command, and then I assume communication cuts off because Tim eases back into the seat a little bit, hands falling away from the console.

I swallow again at the silence. "Tal, are you mad at me?"

He's very still for a second, and then he stands out of the chair and turns. His hands are clenched, and I step backwards and hit the wall behind me — cupboards built into them — as he stalks towards me, coming what shouldn't be uncomfortably close but is because I can hear and even _see_ that he's angry and I just asked a really stupid question.

" _Yes_ ," he spits. "You almost got us both killed or captured in there, Kon. When I tell you to do something you _do_ it. Don't make me force you to follow orders!" His voice rises, anger leeching into the tone itself and I press back against the wall. Tim's never— "If Luthor had reacted even a _second_ faster than I did you'd probably be dead, and you'd _definitely_ still be in there."

I can't move, and I shouldn't be frightened by Tim, I know he wouldn't hurt me unless he had no other option, but he's intimidating and angry and I just _am_.

"Don't _ever_ disobey me in a combat setting like that, Kon." I'm not sure I've ever heard him use that kind of tone before; dark, hissed, and _furious_. The beat of his heart backs it up, and that's what makes me press hard back against the wall and try not to even breathe too deeply.

"I— Sorry, Tal. I didn't think—"

"No, you _didn't_. What did you really think you were going to get away with in _Luthor's_ lab? That entire place is built to take Kryptonians down. _You_ should know that, and you should have followed my lead and trusted that I was following the best option for both of us. You should have _trusted_ me, Kon."

I don't think it's possible for me to merge any farther into the wall without breaking it, and I don't need to give Tim any more reasons to be pissed at me. "I'm sorry," I repeat. "But what you said, what you _did_ —"

"I did what I _had_ to," he snaps. "If Luthor knew our connection he would use it to our detriment, and I will _not_ let that happen. I used your conditioning to keep both of us alive and out of chains, and I _won't_ apologize for that. _You_ made it necessary when you attacked Luthor."

My stomach clenches, and I draw my arms in around my waist. "You conditioned me?" I ask quietly, and I can hear Tim's heart skip, his breathing hitch, but I'm not sure if it's just surprise or if it's guilt.

"Of course I did," he answers, equally quietly. "You learned almost everything practical that you know from me, Kon. I made sure your behavioral patterns were what I wanted them to be, when I could make them that way. What else were you expecting?"

I never thought about it that way.

I knew that Tim taught me to do exactly what he liked in a physical sense, and I knew about the click of his tongue being a safeguard to release him — and that makes _sense_ to me — but I didn't know that he'd just… _created_ me like that. I had no idea. Did he _make_ me loyal to him? Did he _make_ me want him? Did he make me care for him?

Tim breathes out, with the tiny hitch of his throat that means it's a sigh, and steps forward and up against me. One of his hands rises to touch the side of my face, and the other strokes down my shoulder, over the bare skin of my right arm. I duck my head, hurting more than physically and not wanting him near me, but at the same time craving his touch. Tim's touch is always a reassurance, it always feels _so_ good.

"I apologize for how I acted in there," he says quietly, "and how it reduced you. But I refuse to be sorry for saving both of our lives, or for being who I am. I condition everyone around me, Kon, not just you. You just happened to be a cleaner slate than most, and you made yourself an easy target. I took advantage."

His heart doesn't skip, his breathing doesn't change, and I can't hear or see any muscle movement that might prove that he's lying to me. "Did you make me want you?" I don't look him in the face, but I _listen_ and I _watch_.

He starts — a tiny flinch of his left shoulder and an irregular draw to his inhalation — and then shakes his head. "No," he answers simply. "It made things easier, and I encouraged it once I knew it was there, but I didn't make you desire me, Kon. Before your disastrous first attempt at kissing me, I had no intention of ever seeing or treating you as more than another Kryptonian."

 _Good_. That's good. At least some part of me is real, right?

"Kon, the only _serious_ conditioning I ever did to you was the safeguard." His voice is blank, but now I'm sure that the beat of his heart is at least a little guilty, if maybe still a bit irritated. "Everything else is normal by even a civilian's standards. All I did was encourage what I approved of you doing, and ignore or withdraw from what I didn't. It's incidental, _everyone_ does some form of it. I just happen to be aware of doing it, which makes it more effective."

His hand strokes over my face, the other flexes on my arm, and I look up to at least meet his gaze. He leans in, slowly, and because I just _need_ the touch I let him kiss me. Soft, taking his time, with only the slightest flicker of tongue. His heart slows down, I can feel and hear him ease into the press of our mouths — it's such a small tell that I don't think even he realizes it's there — and I don't have any control in how I mimic that relaxation. At least I know that Tim didn't change this part of me; it's just mimicking _his_ response, and his is subconscious. He can't have made me do that, right?

I raise my right hand to gently touch his side, and then loop my arm around his waist beneath his cape, not pulling to draw him in closer. I want him, I _always_ want him, but this still aches too much to actually act on that desire. His touch is easier, and the kiss is gentle, and I really just feel like I want to curl into his arms and never leave. Maybe back at the base.

Tim waits for me to be the one to end the kiss, and drop my head down against his shoulder, and then slides his hand backwards to cup the base of my skull, claws tangling a bit in my hair but not really pulling. His lips press against the side of my neck, down to the hem of my shirt, and then he lets out another of his slight sighs.

"Apart from what I taught you physically, about sexual situations and how to react towards me in them, there's no way I made you behave that you didn't already do naturally," Tim admits, and I recognize the sweep of miniscule tension in him from when he confirmed who he was to me. He doesn't think he should be telling me this, but he is anyway. "I encouraged behaviors, Kon, I didn't create them. The only times I created were when you didn't have a base to start with. Sex, almost exclusively."

I shift, closing my eyes and drawing in a shallow breath through my nose so I can get Tim's scent in my nose. His suit smells like a battlefield, like smoke and blood and steel, but _Tim_ himself smells like a computer left running for a while. Warm, alive, metallic and like… No one's scent has ever made me feel as comfortable and at _home_ as Tim's does. He smells like _home_.

"I'm sorry, Tal," I mumble into his shoulder, holding him loosely against me. "I thought you were just saying things to get him to shut off the light."

The last of the irritated signs fade, and his lips press against the skin below my ear. "That's not a bad assumption. It's just a flaw in planning on my part; we'll set a few signals up for if this happens again, and vocal communications aren't possible. Next time, _wait_."

I nod, and then ask, "Why did you deal with him, Tal? Why give him my blood?"

Tal twitches, then shakes his head, and I can feel the irritation in him. "No better choice. It took me a bit to get there, and I didn't have the time to scout or plan like I should have. If I hadn't moved as quickly as I did he would have sedated you, and the odds of me making it out of there by myself, with you unconscious, were very low. I needed you awake." His fingers flex on my arm, at the back of my skull. "He wasn't worried about my presence, not even after the light was disabled. I know his security is geared towards Kryptonians, but I'd bet that it would work just fine on a human too. He seemed to think so anyway, and since he wasn't concerned, even at least mostly unarmed, I took the safe play."

Tim draws away a little bit, pulls to get me to look at him, and I let him. I can't see his eyes, but I can feel and hear his pulse, his heartbeat. "The likelihood that you could have killed him in there was near _impossible_ , and the chance that he would have set whatever his security systems are on me after you were incapacitated was too high. I did what I had to, Kon. It's not what I wanted, and if the chances of success had been higher I would have fought instead, but there were too many unknown variables. I _couldn't_ risk that."

"I get it," I say quietly, and I really do. Tim's mind is… He's a _genius_ , his mind never stops working, and if he thinks the risks are too high I trust him. If he doesn't know something it's usually dangerous, and probably going to come close to killing one of us. He avoids unknowns like direct sunlight, and trusts in his facts as much as his shadows. I _understand._

"Kon, if there was _any_ better option that I recognized—"

"You would have taken it," I finish, and manage to take in a deep breath and let it go again. To steady myself. "I get it, Tal. It just hurt, I'll be alright."

Tim flinches his way through his miniscule version of a wince, and then I can see him straighten a little bit and tilt his head up, meet my gaze squarely. "What do you want?" he asks. He has to see the confusion, because almost instantly after I feel it he speaks again. "I'm not good at dealing with other people in ways that aren't manipulation. I can do what I know has calmed you down in the past, but what do you _want?_ "

I blink, swallow, and then lower my head and gather Tim close, burying my face against the side of his neck. "I want to go home," I answer, _feeling_ it in my chest, "back to your room. To forget this ever happened."

"Of course," he agrees easily. "And from me?"

From Tim? "Just be there." I turn my head a little, further into his neck and it's the suit against me and not his skin but it doesn't matter. Tim is as much this suit as he is some famous, normal, human in Gotham, maybe even more. What he wears doesn't matter to me; his heart is the same and that's what counts. "Just be there," I repeat, and hesitate a second before adding on, "T."

His brothers, Jason and Nightingale, call him that. To stand for Talon among us, and Tim among them. I won't call Tim by his name unless I'm sure we're alone and no one else can hear — Tim's room, and that security room that's supposedly 'secret' are the only places in the base that happens — but he'll know. I never call him 'T.'

His hands flex in the same wariness I can hear in his heart, but then he presses into me and it fades out, replaced by that skip of his pulse and tightness to his breath that I can feel, that I _recognize_ from listening to other people. "Of course, Kon."

He lets me stand there for a while, distracting myself from the pain with the beat of his heart and his scent in my nose, before eventually starting to pull away. I don't want to let him out of my grip, but I do. Even if I didn't know that he carries kryptonite, and won't shy away from using it or that tongue click to make me let him go, I'd always do what Tim wants. He was the first face I saw when I woke up from the lab, the first person to show me any kind of real attention as another living being, and the first person I really _wanted_.

Nightingale is attractive, but that was aggression and the misguided belief Kal drove into my head that humans were lesser. I thought I could take what I wanted just because I wanted it. I didn't think he could stop me.

Tim was interesting, and smart, and I _always_ had that instinct to obey him when he started giving orders. He was half my size, but he intimidated me just as effectively as Owlman did, and that didn't make any sense to me then. He was the representation of everything Kal told me humans _weren't_ — strong, smart, _better_ — he expected me to follow his orders just because he gave them, and when I questioned he took me down and proved he knew what he was doing. It frustrated me, and I was confused by my own desire, but I knew that I wanted him.

Tim was the second Owl to stop my advances, and when I was on my knees in front of him with the kryptonite glowing green between his fingers, even past the pain and the nausea, I felt something I didn't understand.

And I kept feeling it.

I let him slip away from my grip, turn my head to catch his clawed, gloved fingertips across my cheek as they slide away from my hair, and listen so I can hear that _thing_ in his heart that I know beats the same as mine. I _know_ it.

"I have to fly the jet," Tim says, as he steps back. "I didn't have time to grab a two-seater, but it shouldn't be that long a flight." He waits for my nod, my acknowledgement, before turning and heading back across the small area of the jet.

It's definitely not one of the Owl-family's bigger ones. Most of them have at least two seats, but this looks like it was designed for one person and maybe a prisoner, or just room to store gear. I don't usually fly with Tim, or in anyone's planes — it's kinda pointless, unless it's something stealth related and they don't want me flying next to them — but I've never even seen this particular one before. It must be another one of those Owl jets that rarely leaves Gotham, especially since it's only got a seat for one person. Maybe Tim was just catching a ride back to the base in it because it was available.

Actually…

I follow him, leaning on the back of the chair as he sits in it and watching as he reaches forward for the controls. It's built for someone with a much bigger, and taller, torso than him, so I settle for leaning against the top of the chair's back instead of against his shoulders, crossing my arms underneath my head.

"How long was I there?" I ask. I can judge by what the sun looks like through the windows of the front of the jet, but I'm still not great at judging the time by where the sun is. Going through different time zones is part of it, but the rest is that I just haven't had enough time to watch and learn what it looks like. The seasons shifting the time doesn't help _either_.

"Only about an hour, including the time I was there with you. He took you closer to two hours ago, but took the time to transport you to a more distant lab from Metropolis and Gotham."

Tim was behind me, still clearing up business with Owlman at the sight of the battle our team got called in for, when Luthor knocked me out of the sky. Even if he knew instantly what had happened, he'd still have to have tracked me down, and figured out where Luthor took me, and that's a really _short_ time to do it in unless…

"Are you tracking me?"

He pauses, but doesn't glance up when he answers, "Yes."

That actually doesn't even irritate me. I'm just _curious_ , really. "You can't have tagged all of my clothes, could you?" It's not like I've got one standard costume or some piece of clothing — like Jason's jacket — that I wear around everywhere. My 'costume' is just clothes, and lots of sets of them. Most with a couple repaired rips.

There's that hitch again, the 'I shouldn't be telling you this' one, and then Tim admits, "It's embedded in one of your ribs, back near your spine." He pauses again, and then glances up at me as I stare at him. "You were unconscious and down for surgery to remove kryptonite from your system. I took the opportunity that presented itself. You healed before you woke up and never noticed the difference."

"I… Oh." I'm probably going to check that later, when I've got a mirror and some spare time to actually examine my own skeletal structure, but Tim's word that it's there is really enough. "You could have just asked, Tal, or told me you were going to. I can wear some kind of tracker if you want me to, I don't mind."

He looks up at me again, head tilting back against the chair. "You don't?" He sounds a bit disbelieving, even his actual tone of voice.

"I'm pretty much always at the base or with you, Tal. What could you do with knowing where I am except keep me alive, like today?" I reach down, touching the edge of the mask beneath his goggles, and following the line of his jaw down a bit. "Just because I didn't know doesn't mean you didn't have it. What's changed between now and three hours ago that you're going to use it against me?"

A smile flickers across Tim's face, just for a second. "I haven't had someone react to finding out I'm tracking them with acceptance before," he comments dryly.

I step to the side of his chair, and there's only about two feet between it and the wall of the jet but I manage to squeeze myself into the space, sinking down to my knees and leaning up against the low armrest with my arms and head on top of it. "I trust you," I say softly, closing my eyes and easing into the slightly uncomfortable position.

I can hear Tim shift, and then his hand touches my forehead, and his lips follow a half a second or so later. "Thank you," he breathes against my skin, barely even saying the words by a human's standards, but I can hear them.

He shifts sideways, the metal and fabric of his suit pressing up against my arm instead of lightly brushing, and I lean a little further into the touch. "Take us home, Tal?"

"Of course," he answers, and I relax into his side and listen to that skip of his heart.


End file.
